Dear Agnes,
It must be hot out there in that desert. I hope ye cin find shade from time to time. And may all yer oasises be real water, to drink deep from and mebbe swim in too.
The homestead be mighty empty without yer soul to fill 'er up. And ever'day I miss ye, from the minnit I open m'eyes to the minnit I cin close 'em - and that always take a while, what wit' all the tossin' and turnin' and wondr'in ever'night.
In the mornin' ye was always better at hearin' the rooster when he start to crowin', and after slappin' that feller once or twice to shut 'im up mebbe 'nother five ticks of the clock, ye'd always 'member to call 'cross to me and lemmerme know that the day were startin', Barney.
But sommertimes I wake before then and jest watch ye sleepin', fer ye look so peaceful and loverly such, and the sound of yer breathin' were a comfort ta me.
Agnes, I done miss yer breathin'. Yer snorin' too. And the way ye mash yer face inter the piller lyin' on yer belly. I bin takin' ta that way'a restin' m'self. Maker me think'a ye and not hurt so much.
And Agnes, I dinna mind the grumpies that usual afflick ya when the day first break. It were 'dorable, in its way, 'specially if I happen' inta the bafferroom when ye still be fixin' yer hair and 'plyin' yer girlie paint make your skin and lips and eyes and fingers and toes look so purty.
'Member that time we put some'a that foot paint on me own clompers? Hee hee hee what a giggle and it took almost f'rever fer the shiny sparklies ta come off. Might even still be there, lemmerme check...
Nope. Nuthin'. Maker me sad, it do.
Used ta maker us laugh.
Agnes, I done miss yer laughin'. Ye be the perfeck mix'a serious lady and nutty goofer, jest like me on the inside. We should be goofin' right now even, by heck.
Durin' any day we'd send each other a telegraph or two, and ye'd always come ta me if there were sumpin' stickin' in yer craw and makin' ye need to talk 'er out. Sommertimes it jest be a simple hello, or a "where did ye go?" and I like that last one most 'cause it maker me feel treasur'd.
Come twilight, me an' the horse would trot our way home and find such a fine meal bein' ready fer the eatin'. Or mebbe I'd beat yer chuckwagon there and make one m'self fer us both. Either way's a damn sight better than what pass fer grub now, 'cause ain't no sweet Agnes to make 'er fer, and Barney ain't got no motorvation to treat 'imself the way 'e treat 'er.
So it follow I done miss yer cookin', Agnes. Ye're a genius wit' it ta be sure, always inventin'. And I miss yer clumsy fumblin' round the kitchen too. I know it hurt muchly when ye burn yer hand on the cookstove, and I sure hope that bad'un welt ye done inflick yerself wit' be good n' gone, but I also lover the fack it happen at all. I know it be loony, but it done warm me heart how ye klutz it up so.
I dang miss seein' ye pull on the woolen gloves to washer the plates affer we eat, but more'n that I miss washin' em fer ye. I cin do it on me own jest fine, but havin' ye there to 'precierate what I done gone done, feel so much nicer all 'round.
And never mind settin' and unsettin' no table now. It jest dunna happen. Ye was the one could do that fer us, and wit' the artistic flair any time. All that flair ye done brought ta the homestead, it ain't my specialty, though I done haver the time'a me life pickin' things fer the 'stead wit' ye, chairs n' pictures n' shelves and lil' knicker-knackers that ye be perfeck at choosin' to fill alla the space n'all.
Speakin'a fillin', there ain't even no voices or laffter ta deckerate the home none, no talkin' or sillifyin' ta make the night a good'un and taker 'way the tenshun a' the day. I be goin' ta me workshop ta fill me hours with whatever lil' project I cin dream up fer the moment, and that be fine and all, but it ain't enuf, nosirree.
And when it come time fer puttin' head ter piller, gee whiz. I done stay 'wake fer too many ticks'a the clock, flippin' ta that side, switchin' ta this one, and never settlin' down satisfied. Good grief, Agnes, when ye was here, one whiff of yer hair and I were happy as cin be, ready ta fall ta slumber straight away knowin' ye was right beside me slumberin' too. It ain't jest me heart that misses that, it be me whole body. And I won't even get inter the other ways me body misses ye, but landsakes that be a struggle indeed.
The way ye shift yer feet before fallin' ta sleep. I miss it. And I miss ye tellin' me ta stop bangin' mine 'round. I miss ye askin' fer me ta rubber yer back and neck and loosen knots in yer feet also. Gosh it seems I miss yer feet a lot. And blowin' on yer belly like a horse done flapper him lips sommertimes, only on ye it tickle and make ye laugh up a storm sumpin' fierce.
Many a night ye'd drew yerself a bath and light up some'a candles in the warm dark, and by golly I miss that bad. One time ye even draw me one and I feel like the luckiest feller in the town. See, I dunna know how ta do that stuff fer meself, Agnes. I'm'a not ver'good at relaxin' and takin' the downtime, as they say. Ye was best at helpin' me 'chieve them needs.
Ye was also best at workin' 'longside me, and I 'longside you. We was a dang strong team, whither pickin' frocks and chaps fer the comin' season or puttin' together tables wit' seventeen million parts n'all. I knew ye was me partner in crime when we first maker a picture frame and it go down like porridge flowin' smooth.
I canna even 'magine what it be like come'a year end and winter solstice if I canna have ye to stroll 'long main street wit' and collect up some deckerations fer a holiday cactus and hangin' 'dem matchin' stockins' we done picked out sep'rate but exack same 'cause that how we both like ta thinkin' things shoulda look. Fer the love'a Pete it done sadden me ta the bone.
I bin tryin' ta hiderway them nice photergraphs taken of ye n' me when we first meet at the weddin' (ye got the spirally poofy dress I so care for, and them loopy lacy shoes), but dunna matter if I stick 'em in a drawer or put 'em upside down, my mind eye be full'a ye all the time, in alla dresses and shoes and blouses and britches and sommertimes less. Tell the truth, lotter times less, but what cin a man do when his lady done pack up and make fer the desert all by 'erself?
And that be the thing, Agnes. Ye said ye need to do 'er alone, and I bin respeckin' that request best I cin, but lissen: it dunna haver ta be that way. I know what it's like ta walk the desert. I cin even face the Mega-Nega. If ye'd jest be able ta share yer journey and lemmerme in ta help, I'da be right there wit' ye, right 'longside ye where I dang belong.
Ye done prove ye're a tough lady. We all know it. Ye done prove yer head be hard as a stone too. But sommertimes ye need help, Agnes. Sommertings canna be done by one person 'lone. I know it, lady, 'cause I were the same. I were all tough for many a year, and I were dang sure there were only one way I could win. I hadda do it all m'self, 'cause a man should be able ta, right? Nope. What a man should be able ta do is ask fer help when he needs.
Ladies too. Ladies gotter see there's no shame in it, no guilt neither. The truth is, ever'one'a us need some'a help and we dunna get it by shuttin' usselves off from the things that spook us or might hurt some. We hafta face 'em, like I hadda face the Nega. But 'member, first time I face that beastie, I only beat 'im 'cause I had the help'a some special folk done give two hoots and more 'bout me. Soon as I open me arms and ask fer the help, that's when it start gettin' better. And best.
It be true.
I done look all over that dang desert fer a Magic Cactus that would giver me the power ta saver m'self. But I finally realize I weren't s'posed ta saver m'self at all. And that Cactus? It weren't out there. It were right back at home.
That Magic Cactus, I found, be other folk.
Agnes, there be one such folk right here writin' this letter ta ye, who lover ye ver'much and got least two hand ta lend.
'Til ye let me, I gotta keeper my vigil, lonerly as it be, and hoper fer the best. 'Cause I dunna know what else ta do, dear.
But there no way ye never comin' back ferm that desert. It would done gone do me in. That canna be the end'a this here story.
Nope way, Agnes.
All my loverin',
Barney
P.S. There be lotta salt n' vinegar tater chips left. It be no fun eatin' 'em 'lone.
NOW WITH MUSICAL ACCOMPANIMENT! (thanks Agnes)Dear AgnesLabels: big nose barney, breakups, magic cactus, music
